


Hold On To What We Are

by giselleslash



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Breathplay, Christmas, Desperation, Friendship, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Gore, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giselleslash/pseuds/giselleslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world as they know it is gone, but Merlin and Arthur have each other and maybe that’s all they need. (Basically The Walking Dead Celebrates Christmas :))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On To What We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thursday_Next](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/gifts).



> I know I failed at writing any of the prompts you gave me but I grabbed onto a few of your likes and took off with them. I hope you enjoy it, Thursday. Happy Holidays!
> 
> All my love and thanks go out to my amazing betas: I and S, and my equally amazing Brit-picker and beta, N. Quite frankly, there should be shrines to the three of you. I'm so lucky to have your invaluable insight and help.

Arthur’s keeping watch. It’s his turn. They haven’t been able to find safe shelter for days and they’re running on fumes. It’s difficult when they’re only two--the burden is heavier on each of them. 

He can hear frogs, and figures they must be near a water source. Arthur hopes it’s fresh and they can refill their canteens before setting off again in the morning. Neither one of them knows where they are exactly. They’re heading north and as far as either of them can figure they’re somewhere outside of Derby. 

There’s no reason they’re going north, it’s not likely there are fewer Risen there, but it’s a direction. In the beginning there were rumors of a safe zone in the north but that was months ago and Arthur doubts it’s still there. If it ever was. 

He feels Merlin shift beside him, hears him start to mumble, and Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder to calm him back to sleep.

Arthur is far more tactile with Merlin when he’s asleep and unaware. It would be strange otherwise. It’s not really that way between them. They were alone, they found each other, they travel together because there’s safety in numbers. That’s all. 

Arthur would call them friends, maybe, if there were still such luxuries as friends and friendship. Sometimes Arthur lets himself slip, lets himself remember long Sunday afternoons in the park playing football with his mates. He’s always sure to stop though, before the memories become too much. 

There’s an understanding between them. They have each other’s backs, and these days that means a hell of a lot more than friendship.

And, if sometimes the pressure gets too much, it’s relief and release that leads to frantic fucks in the woods. Or one of them on all fours on a dodgy mattress in one of the long abandoned homes they sometimes claim as their own for a day or two until they’re driven out.

Those moments can’t mean more because there’s never enough time to allow them to mean more. There’s only trousers and pants hastily shoved down, a quick press of fingers slick with whatever they can find for lube--what they both pretend not to scavenge for specifically, or keep in their packs despite needing the room for other things--and then it’s just sharp thrusts and gasping breaths.

Then it’s over. And they move on.

The sun is just coming up on the horizon when Arthur gently shakes Merlin awake.

“Ready to get going?”

Merlin grumps and grumbles and Arthur smiles. There are moments when Merlin makes him feel almost normal.

“Lazy bastard. Let’s go.”

Arthur sets one of the apples they’d been lucky enough to find the day before next to Merlin’s head and gets up. He trusts Merlin to follow.

~*~

They look at each other, then back at the farmhouse. Merlin absently reaches out and pinches Arthur’s arm.

“Ow. Arsehole.”

Arthur can see the curve of Merlin’s smile and he laughs. They’re both sort of suspended in disbelief--neither one quite sure they’re awake. The house in front of them looks unscathed. The door and windows are all intact and there are even a couple of chickens wandering around the yard. There’s a barn and stables to the right side of the house and their doors are open. Arthur wonders if maybe the owners had enough time, and awareness, to free the animals before— Well, before everything went wrong. 

“There’s got to be a catch,” Merlin says. 

Arthur agrees. They can’t possibly be this lucky.

Arthur grips the handle of his machete. “I don’t think I care, though.”

“Fuck. Me neither.”

Arthur looks over at Merlin and sees he has his crossbow ready. They’ve fought so long together they don’t need to say anything anymore. They know exactly what the other is going to do at any given moment. Sometimes Arthur feels like they share a mind--though sharing a mind with Merlin is a scary thought. 

They make their way up to the door of the farmhouse, each taking one side of the door. Arthur kicks it open as Merlin turns into the open doorway, his crossbow ready to fire. They’re greeted with silence but they both know they’ve only just begun. Every floor, every room, needs to be covered before they can let themselves believe. 

Once they’re inside Merlin goes to the right, and Arthur to the left. Before they know it they’ve swept the entire house minus the cellar. Arthur knows Merlin noticed the door when they were standing outside the farmhouse. 

“Bloody fucking cellar,” Merlin says.

Not that Arthur is particularly fond of them either, but he knows how much Merlin hates confined spaces. Arthur always offers to go first even though Merlin never fails to protest half-heartedly. 

Once they’re outside again, and Arthur’s about to reach down to try to pull open the huge cellar door, Merlin says:

“Maybe we can just leave them down there. Barricade it just to be sure.”

“Could be food down there.”

“I’ll eat grass.”

Arthur lets out a sharp, loud laugh. He can’t help himself. 

“What? Like a ruddy cow?”

“Cows are majestic.”

“Well, you can be a majestic cow. I want actual food.”

“If they get me I’m biting you first.” Merlin mutters.

“You always say that.”

“‘Cause it’s always true.”

“Who knows,” Arthur says. “Maybe there’s no one down there. Maybe they abandoned the farm altogether.”

“Oh, they’re down there. We’re not that fucking lucky.”

“Come on, Merlin, where’s all your positivity gone?”

“Up your arse.”

“Nicely done.” 

Arthur can’t stop himself from giving Merlin’s shoulder a good shove.

“I’ve got a crossbow, you know,” Merlin says. “And you’ve got a fat arse. Big target, easily hit.”

“A bit obsessed with my arse, aren’t you?”

“Just shut it and go first.”

“So you can watch my arse.”

That finally gets a laugh out of Merlin and he gives Arthur’s back a good, solid push. “Just go already.”

Arthur looks back over his shoulder at Merlin and tells him, “We’ll be fine,” before turning back around and reaching down to open the door. 

Arthur thinks he hears Merlin reply, _’Yeah, I know,’_ but the latch is jammed on the door and he’s struggling with it. Merlin reaches around him and wraps his hand next to Arthur’s around the door handle. Arthur braces his feet against the base of the cellar door and Merlin manages to wedge one foot in next to Arthur’s to try to do the same. 

They’ve only given the door one good tug when they hear the clawing and the familiar hissing moans from the other side of it.

“Fuck.” Merlin groans.

“Just one more pull. Be ready.” Arthur says as he pushes Merlin back from the door and nods to him. 

Merlin takes the hint, and although he scowls at Arthur, he stands his ground in front of the door and raises his crossbow. Even though Arthur promised to go first they both know it’ll be easier for Merlin to start taking out the owners as they emerge from the cellar as Arthur takes them from the side. 

Arthur kicks at the latch and it bends just enough to loosen. Arthur reaches out and pulls the door open. The horrible groaning sound the Risen make assaults their ears immediately and Arthur barely has time to step away from the cellar entrance before an arrow is whizzing by his head. It strikes what must have been the family’s grandfather in the center of his forehead and he falls back onto the others that are trying to push their way up the steps. 

The rest of them push around the grandfather and Merlin takes out the mother before Arthur can even get his machete up to take off the father’s head. There’s a grandmother and three children as well and still, even after all this time, they both hesitate when it comes to the children. 

When the kids come crawling up the steps and over the bodies ahead of them, Merlin pauses and looks over at Arthur. His crossbow drops a bit and Arthur steps between Merlin and the kids--takes them out himself. 

“Thanks.” 

Merlin’s voice is quiet and Arthur just gives his shoulder a quick squeeze. He knows next time it might very well be Merlin who does the hard job. 

They haul the bodies out of the stairway and pile them up next to the house. They’ll move and burn them later, but for now they’re eager to find out if there’s anything they can use in the cellar. 

Arthur flips on the torch they’ve been trying to conserve since they put the last of their batteries into it a few weeks back. He shines it down the stairs as they both head down. Inside there are shelves of preserves; fruits, vegetables, even a barrel of potatoes. They don’t know if any of it is edible but it’s the most food they’ve seen in one place in a long long time.

“Oh my giddy aunt,” Merlin says as he looks up and down the shelves. “I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry yet, you might need to save the tears for when we find out this is all actually spoiled and inedible.”

“Don’t rain on my parade, Arthur. All of this beautiful, beautiful food is completely fine, no problems, fuck you for being rational and thinking otherwise.”

Arthur smiles and watches Merlin as he pulls down a jar of what looks like strawberry jam and starts cradling it in his arms and cooing at it. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot with jam, let’s make that important distinction.”

“A jam-filled idiot then.”

“Oh God, you could eat me with tea,” Merlin says in a tone of voice that Arthur would call dreamy if pressed to do so. 

Arthur just shoves Merlin out of the way and starts grabbing jars off the shelves. When he has an armload he looks over at Merlin.

“When you’re done molesting the jam could you give a guy a hand?”

“I’ll never be done molesting my jam. This jam has taken your place. All I need is my jam. My sweet, sweet jam.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and heads back up. He wants no part of Merlin’s jam perving.

~*~

The food ends up being edible--at least the few jars Arthur opens, he hopes the others will be too once they need them.

Merlin celebrates by grabbing a spoon from the kitchen and sitting down with his jar of jam. Arthur’s fairly certain he should leave the two of them alone based on the noises Merlin is making, but he just sits and watches and makes fun of him. 

Once they’re done eating they make another run through the house deciding what fortifications it needs. While it’s obvious no one has come across it since the outbreak, that won’t be the case forever and they need to make sure they’re prepared. 

People are a lot less trusting than they used to be.

They spend the rest of the day finding supplies and boarding up windows on the ground floor, as well as cleaning up a bedroom for them to use. When Arthur goes outside to look around he finds a well spigot. He pumps the handle a couple of times, not daring to hope that it’ll actually bring up water, but it does. 

Cold, clear water.

Arthur wants to kneel down under the spigot and drink his fill but he has no idea if the water is contaminated or not. He goes into the barn and finds a bucket to fill up and bring inside.

“Merlin,” he shouts. “Water.”

“What?” Merlin’s voice comes from upstairs.

“Water. Well.”

“Random words. Merlin confused.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I found a well. We’ve got water.”

Merlin’s feet come stomping down the stairs. 

“An actual ‘send the bucket down the well’ well?” Merlin asks.

“No bucket, just a spigot.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“I know you wanted to make a wish and all, but hey, fresh water. Or at least what I hope is fresh water.”

Merlin grabs a cup from the cupboard and dunks it into the water. Before Arthur can say anything Merlin’s already drinking.

“Merlin. God. It could be contaminated,” Arthur says as he grabs Merlin’s wrist.

Merlin gives him a look. “We’ve drunk out of rivers that have fuck knows what all floating dead and bloated in them and we haven’t died yet.”

“Lovely,” Arthur mutters. 

“Well, we have.”

“I’m just going to wait and see if you die before I drink any though, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Merlin grins. “Please remember to chop off my head, though, if I do.”

“It would be the highlight of my week.” 

Arthur jokes and Merlin laughs at him, but they both know that if anything happened to one of them the other would be lost. Alone. The thought is too terrifying to consider.

“Once the sun goes down we should start a fire, start heating up a bunch of water so we can take a bath,” Merlin says.

Arthur moans at the thought. “Stop it, you’re making me hard.”

Merlin looks at him, face completely serious. “I found soap too. And shampoo. Coconut scented.”

“Oh God. I think I just came.”

“And we have water to wash your pants in now,” Merlin says. “Hooray.”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever known who actually says the word, ‘hooray’.” 

“I’m sorry for you, and the people you used to know.”

It’s as close as they come to mentioning the past, mentioning Before. It hurts too much. Although sometimes, with Merlin, there are glimpses of normal--of that past that’s so very beautiful and so very far away.

~*~

It takes them an age to fill up the bathtub and heat the water. They jerry-rigged the fireplace with odds and ends they found in the barn and shed out back to make it possible to hook up buckets and pots for heating.

“This better be the best damn bath we’ve ever had.” Merlin complains as he dumps the last bucket of water into the tub.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors for who goes first?” Arthur asks.

“Nah, you go,” Merlin says. “For the kids and all that.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine. You first.”

Arthur doesn’t waste any more time arguing the point and quickly strips down. He’s about to step into the bathtub when he realises Merlin is still there--and that they’ve never seen each other properly naked before. He can feel himself flush pink with sudden embarrassment and is thankful for the first time that electricity is long gone. They’ve candles stashed all over the house, though, and Merlin lit a few to illuminate the bathroom. It’s weirdly romantic and Arthur splashes the water about in his haste to get into the tub. 

Merlin doesn’t seem to notice, though, and he stays in the room. He sits down on the floor next to the tub and props his arm up on the edge. Waiting. It’s not strange, Merlin staying, because both of them are loath to lose sight of the other. Arthur sometimes feels like a small child clinging to his mother’s leg, afraid if he can’t see her she’ll disappear. Everything is so uncertain now and every moment apart is spent worrying that the other is safe. 

Arthur wonders at the fact that he’s yet to grow weary of Merlin. He always used to love to be alone, to have time to himself--he always tended to feel overwhelmed, smothered, when people failed to give him space. But in the months he’s traveled with Merlin that feeling has never come. He doesn’t know if he’s different now, or if it’s Merlin that makes things different. 

He’s trying to be as quick as possible so Merlin can enjoy the warm water, but it feels fucking heavenly and Arthur never wants to leave the bathtub. The soap smells of lilacs and he can’t stop himself from smelling it, from rubbing it into the washcloth and then his skin, over and over again. He smiles when he thinks about how much fun Morgana would’ve poked at him for smelling like a fucking lilac bush. He can almost hear her voice. 

He’s about to tell Merlin so, share that small part of his past with him, but suddenly Merlin’s hand is wrapped around Arthur’s ankle. Arthur looks up to see Merlin has pushed up the sleeve of his shirt so he can dip his hand underwater. Merlin doesn’t seem to know he’s doing it and Arthur watches him as he feels Merlin’s fingers slide around his ankle, then move away, feels Merlin’s fingers tap out a pattern along his skin. 

“I’m going to smell like potpourri,” Arthur says inanely. 

Merlin looks up at him then, but doesn’t say anything, and then his hand is gone from Arthur’s ankle. Arthur wants to ask him to put it back, but Merlin is on his knees now, at Arthur’s side and running his wet hand through Arthur’s hair. 

“Dunk,” Merlin says as he gives Arthur’s head a gentle push. 

Arthur does as he’s told, shimmies himself down until he can submerge himself underwater. He stays there for a moment, opens his eyes and sees the faint, rippled outline of Merlin through the water. He looks like he’s glowing and Arthur rises up from the water with a bit of a splutter.

“Don’t drown on me,” Merlin says as he digs his fingers into Arthur’s hair and starts shampooing it. 

The backs of Arthur’s eyes sting. He hasn’t been touched--not like this--in months. Not since Gwaine. They’re not like this, him and Merlin. They’re not. They’re fast fucks to relieve pressure, banal jokes and teasing. They’re spending all of their time and energy to keep each other, and themselves, alive. 

Arthur doesn’t know how to deal with this. 

Merlin’s wrist passes in front of Arthur’s eyes; deceptively thin and fragile, and Arthur wants to press his lips to it, bite into it. And he laughs at that, sudden and too loud. He feels himself flush with heat but Merlin’s fingers don’t stop. Arthur doesn’t know what that says about them, that Merlin doesn’t even respond anymore to Arthur’s near manic laugh. 

“Dunk,” Merlin tells him again. 

Arthur does, and when he reemerges he sees that Merlin has picked up the towel and is holding it out for him. Arthur stands, the water sloshing down his body, the instant cold bringing out goosepimples along his arms. But Merlin’s arms are around him and he’s wrapped up in the towel and though his teeth start to chatter he’s a little bit warmer.

“Finish up,” Merlin says, and his hands give Arthur’s upper arms one last vigorous rubbing. “I’m going down to get that last bucket we left heating up.”

Arthur feels a bit wobbly after Merlin leaves. He’s not sure what just happened. Everything in the tiny bathroom is so close, the edges disappearing in the candlelight, and the moment is too quiet, too intimate. 

He rushes to dry off and get dressed. He has to laugh at the old man pyjamas Merlin found for the both of them. They button up and Arthur feels like he’s fallen into the fifties, but they’re flannelette and warm and Arthur is grateful for them. He’s been wearing the same clothes for weeks and he’s pretty sure they could stand up on their own. He thinks he might burn them in the fireplace later on. He never wants to see them again.

“Hey, Grandpa.” Merlin laughs from the doorway.

“There’s a pair for you too, watch it with the smart mouth.”

Merlin just laughs and dumps the bucket of hot water in the bathtub. He starts to kick off his boots and Arthur decides he’s going to stay too. He’ll sit beside the bathtub and look his fill. 

Arthur’s not disappointed. Merlin is all lean lines and awkward angles that are so beautiful together that they become rather extraordinary. 

“How’s the water?” Arthur asks once Merlin is in the bathtub.

“Who knew a bath could be better than an orgasm?”

Arthur laughs. “I’m sure a lot of people.”

“Then I feel sad for their orgasms.” Merlin pauses for a moment then adds, “Or really really jealous of their bathtubs. I don’t know which.”

“I had an enormous bath,” Arthur says. “Room for two.”

“That’s because you were a rich arsehole. I had a tub the size of that bucket.”

Arthur sits down by the side of the tub. “That’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard. Did Dickens write about you by any chance?”

Merlin flicks him with water then goes back to cleaning his toes. 

“You could grow potatoes between those,” Arthur says. 

“I was thinking about it. If we hadn’t found this place I probably would’ve done it.”

Arthur smiles--watches him for a bit. Merlin’s telling him about how much he hated baths when he was little, about how he must have smelled horribly because his mum would get so tired of fighting him that she’d give up from time to time, let him go for a few days without. Arthur wants to tell him he would’ve liked to have known that stinky child, but he thinks it’s probably too much so he lets it pass without saying anything.

After a while he tells Merlin to dunk, just as Merlin did for him, and his hands are in Merlin’s hair, scrubbing. Merlin says something insulting about being a crap shampoo girl and Arthur pushes his head down underwater without the benefit of a warning ‘dunk’.

When Merlin gets out of the tub, Arthur towels at Merlin’s hair until it’s standing on end in a bushy, frightful mess, and then he tosses the towel back at Merlin’s head as he leaves him to finish up on his own. 

It all feels strange, just past the borders of reality, but nice.

Arthur is okay with nice.

~*~

They eat in front of the fire. Warm food, baked potatoes Merlin had shoved into the coals earlier in the evening. It’s basically heaven, and Arthur has no clue how they got so lucky.

Merlin must feel the same way because once they’re done eating and are lying on the floor, full and content, he says, “God, this is brilliant, isn’t it? I want to, like, fuck you in celebration or something.”

Arthur laughs. Sometimes he has no clue if Merlin is serious.

But then Merlin is on top of him on all fours, hovering above him. Arthur looks up at him, and Merlin is definitely serious. There’s no doubt. Merlin’s hands are on either side of Arthur’s head, his knees straddling Arthur’s hips. Arthur thinks he feels Merlin’s thumb run along the curve of his ear. 

“Just a minute,” Merlin says as he abruptly gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

Arthur watches as Merlin pounds up the stairs, listens as he curses and thumps around. Pretty soon there’s a mattress sliding down the stairs, with Merlin behind it, kicking it and cursing some more. 

Arthur gets up and helps Merlin drag it in front of a fire. Merlin flops down on top of it once it’s settled.

“Wanted to fuck you on a proper mattress,” Merlin says in way of an explanation.

Arthur can’t exactly argue with that but he rolls his eyes at Merlin anyway, out of habit, and grabs his pack to toss it next to the mattress before he drops down onto it next to Merlin. He starts digging in his pack trying to find the nearly empty tub of Vaseline they’d been using when something smacks him on the side of the head.

“Ow, dammit.”

“Lube,” Merlin says. “Found it in their nightstand drawer. It’s still good. Kinky fucking farmers.”

Arthur laughs. “Your priorities are always spot-on.”

“What? You were already taking care of finding what we needed in the barn, just thought I’d make myself useful in the house.”

Arthur lies down on his back next to Merlin and he thinks Merlin will probably just push him onto his side, prep him, slip into him from behind, but Arthur feels Merlin’s hand slip beneath his pyjama top. Fingers searching.

“Just. Take it off, alright?” Merlin’s voice sounds unfamiliar but Arthur starts to undo his buttons anyway. 

He looks over to see Merlin pulling off his own clothes and he’s nervous, all of a sudden. He doesn’t know how this works between them in a situation like this. Merlin’s quiet, for one. Usually he’s cursing and ordering Arthur about. Bossy as fuck, actually. But this Merlin is quiet and they’re both completely naked and it feels like how they might’ve been Before. If they had ever found each other then.

Merlin’s not looking at Arthur’s face, his eyes are travelling across the planes of Arthur’s chest. It’s unnerving. But then Merlin seems to make a decision of some kind because suddenly he’s between Arthur’s thighs and he can feel the heat of Merlin’s breath on his skin, at his hip, so close to his cock that he can feel it start to harden. 

The touch of Merlin’s mouth on the inside of his thigh is unexpected. He’s not kissing Arthur, only mouthing at Arthur’s skin, pressing his nose into it. Arthur almost reaches down to slide his fingers into Merlin’s hair, to press him closer, but Merlin seems to realise what he’s doing and pulls back. He becomes more mechanic, efficient.

Arthur feels the familiar press of Merlin’s fingers inside him, the usual routine, and he’s sort of disappointed. Maybe he wants more of the other; of Merlin’s hot breath and sudden touches.

Arthur is surprised when Merlin pushes into him without turning him onto his stomach. They’ve never fucked like this, face to face. Arthur doesn’t know where to look or what to touch. He’s used to his hands pressed against a tree or a wall, his fingers digging into the ground and stones pressing into his knees. 

This is... 

This is not what Arthur knows. 

Merlin tugs at Arthur’s legs trying to make them wrap around his hips. Arthur does it: wraps his legs around Merlin, hooks his ankles around the back of Merlin’s thighs. He looks up at him then to see if he’s read him right, to see if that’s what Merlin wants, but he’s not looking at Arthur, he’s looking at Arthur’s shoulder so he says his name.

“Merlin.”

Arthur thinks it might sound more like a question than anything else, but it makes Merlin look at him. Arthur feels the heat prickle along his skin; his chest feels like it’s on fire. He looks back. He doesn’t know what else to do. Merlin doesn’t look away and suddenly Arthur feels Merlin’s hands at his neck. He’s not squeezing, just holding, his long fingers around the column of Arthur’s neck and his thumbs softly pressing into the hollow at the base of his throat. 

Merlin holds him in place--fucks him, looks at him like he’s seeing inside him. Arthur’s cock is so hard and he feels like the second he touches it he’ll come so he keeps his hands away, locks his fingers around Merlin’s wrists instead because he doesn’t want it to stop. The ache. 

Merlin tightens his hold when Arthur grasps his wrists and Arthur loves it. Loves the effort it takes for him to draw a deep breath. He digs his nails into Merlin’s skin and it makes Merlin’s thumbs press harder. Arthur’s breaths are shallow gasps and he arches his neck, tries to pull back from Merlin’s hold to get more air. He hears Merlin choke out a curse and then Merlin’s fucking him so hard and deep he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. 

It’s so good. He’s needed this so much. 

Merlin lets go with one of his hands, starts stroking Arthur and he thinks he hears Merlin’s frantic whisper, _’Come on come on come on. Come on me.’_ Arthur tightens his legs around Merlin’s hips, wants to shake his head ‘no’, wants to slap Merlin’s hand away so he’ll just let him be. Let him be on this terrible edge of ache and joy, feeling so alive he could scream.

But he’s been on that edge too long, and Merlin’s fingers— Fuck. All over his stomach, and Merlin’s, and he’s fucking him so fast there’s no way Arthur can catch his breath so when Merlin comes too, fills him with heat, it’s like he’s still coming. This long, gorgeous, neverending pulse. 

Arthur can feel Merlin shaking above him and he doesn’t know how Merlin can gather himself together enough to pull out of him, but he does. He sits back on his heels and looks down at his stomach--runs his fingers through Arthur’s come. Then he’s pushing Arthur’s legs apart, keeping him spread open, watching his own come leak out of Arthur. 

Arthur stares at Merlin as he looks at him with such focused intensity that he’s feeling himself become anxious, scrutinised, but then Merlin’s face switches off and he’s gone. Up and off the mattress and out of the lounge and Arthur wants to call out to him but his throat isn’t working. He feels exhausted, undone, his limbs heavy and sluggish. He blinks and Merlin is back, kneeling between his legs again but this time with a face flannel. Arthur jumps at the coldness but Merlin’s touch is gentle as he runs the flannel over him and he feels cared for in a way he hasn’t felt in so long. 

Merlin is meticulous, intent, and when he’s done he pulls Arthur up into a sitting position and wraps him up in his pyjama top. Arthur lets Merlin push his arms into sleeves, lets him button up buttons, but it ends when Merlin looks up and sees Arthur studying him. The moment comes to an abrupt halt and Arthur’s pyjama bottoms are thrown at his face and there’s a laugh as Merlin scrambles away to dress himself.

Arthur wonders how Merlin can turn on a snap, can erase that small, small moment of their history so easily. Now it’s normal again, now it’s back to them and Merlin is piling duvets and pillows on the mattress and dropping down next to him with a book.

“Read to me.”

Merlin is arranging the bedding around them as Arthur looks at the book.

“ _A Christmas Carol_ , Merlin? I fucking hate Dickens,” Arthur says.

“I knew you would.” 

There’s a smile in every word, Arthur can tell. But he curls up on his side, opens the book and starts to read, just to spite Merlin.

~*~

The next morning Arthur wakes up to find Merlin still asleep and curled in on himself, towards Arthur, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from reaching out. He wants to touch: Merlin’s lips, the curve of his jaw to feel the roughness of his beard. He wants to brush Merlin’s hair away from his forehead.

Merlin is beautiful, and so much more than Arthur can take sometimes. He thinks about last night and wonders what it is he’s supposed to do when Merlin wakes up. He hopes he didn’t read more into it than what it was. 

They’ve always been careful about what they are--they fuck, they travel together, and they do their best to keep each other alive. Maybe it’s asking too much to want more than that. Wanting more, _feeling_ more, is too dangerous. Either one of them could die any day, any minute, and then what would the other do? 

Arthur doesn’t want to think about it so he doesn’t. Simple as that. But he does allow himself just one small concession--he moves closer to Merlin, closes his eyes, and curls into him and lets himself pretend he never woke up at all.

~*~

After all of Arthur’s pretending, he ends up falling back asleep and is only woken up when Merlin starts cursing next to his head. Arthur cracks an eye open and sees Merlin hopping around with one leg halfway in his trousers.

“Fucking cold as fucking fuck.”

Arthur laughs and burrows himself down into the pile of duvets on their bed. 

“Yeah, laugh it up. Just wait until you have to get your fat, lazy arse up out of your little warm happy cocoon of happiness.”

“Why are you even up in the first place?” Arthur asks.

“Cause I’m hungry. And I have to piss.”

Arthur watches Merlin struggle to get dressed, it’s like he’s never worn clothes before, and then calls out to him to bring him back food when Merlin stomps off towards the kitchen. 

“Get your own food.”

Arthur laughs and pulls the duvets over his head. 

They decide to spend the rest of the day properly scavenging the house, and the barn and shed behind the house. Merlin takes the house and Arthur takes the barn and shed. 

He finds things they can use as weapons, plus a couple of full cans of petrol he hopes hasn’t gone bad because out behind the shed he finds the motherload--a generator, and a truck that still has a working battery. The engine doesn’t quite turn over but there’s life in it and Arthur figures if he messes around with it he can get it up and running. 

Merlin finds him bent over and elbows deep in the open bonnet when he comes out a couple of hours later. 

“Thought you maybe wandered off. Like a toddler,” Merlin says as he walks up to the truck. 

“Because I do that so often,” Arthur replies.

“Well, you never know. You might have gotten sick of me.” Merlin says it as a joke, but there’s insecurity there too. 

Arthur pulls back from the truck and looks at Merlin. “You’re annoying as fuck, but I’m not sick of you yet.”

Merlin gives a sort of half-grin and leans against the truck. “You’re looking strangely sexy right now,” he says. “Must be the whole dirty mechanic thing because _you’re_ not particularly sexy.”

Arthur laughs. “Thanks.”

Merlin shrugs. “Well. Y’know.”

Arthur goes back to the engine but asks Merlin, “Did you find anything good in the house?”

“I found a couple of hunting rifles and ammo, plenty of clothes that’ll fit us. Some meds too, even some that haven’t expired. I’ve made a pile in the lounge; we can go through it tonight.”

“Well done.”

“I didn’t find a truck, but I did okay.”

Arthur smiles. “Well, I was lucky.”

“Nah, you’re just an overachieving twat. _’Merlin, what did you find? Just some paracetamol, how about you Arthur? Me? Oh, I just found a truck, a pile of chocolate, a unicorn, and the cure for the Risen.’_ ”

Arthur laughs. 

“I always knew you would be,” Merlin says. “I can tell just by looking at you.”

“Go make yourself useful and get your arse into the truck and try starting it up.”

“You found the keys?”

“They were in the truck.”

Merlin snorts. “Of course they were.”

“Just shut up and try starting the truck.” Arthur smiles to himself when Merlin keeps muttering anyway.

The truck sounds a bit anemic at first, but it turns over and Arthur can see Merlin’s grinning face through the windscreen when he closes the bonnet. Merlin turns off the truck and hops out.

“I can’t believe you got it to work. We’ll be up north in no time.”

“If we can find more petrol. There were a couple of cans in the barn but definitely not enough to get us to Edinburgh.”

“We’ll find some,” Merlin says. Arthur wants to tease him about his optimism, but he needs Merlin’s hope.

“When do you want to take off?”

Merlin looks at him and shrugs. “It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow.”

“Is it?”

“I know it’s pointless, but I still keep track of the days. It keeps me sane.”

Arthur side-eyes him. “Are you entirely sure about the sane bit?”

“Not entirely, no,” Merlin says in a goofy voice Arthur suspects is a bastardised imitation of his own. 

“You want to stick around ‘til then?”

“Yeah, kinda? I mean I found a Christmas tree and decorations in the attic, and well, I dunno. I just thought it’d be nice— “

“Normal maybe?”

“Look, I know it’s stupid and who the fuck cares about Christmas anymore, but I think I do. Care. I dunno.”

“You said you found a Christmas tree?”

“Yeah.”

“Decorating the tree was always one of my favourite things.”

Merlin smiles. “Mine too.”

“I think we should wait until Boxing Day to take off, don’t you?”

“Absolutely, traffic will be much better then,” Merlin says with a laugh as he grabs Arthur’s jacket sleeve and pulls him toward the house. “The tree’s fucking enormous. I mean it’s fake, so it has that against it, but it’s seriously like a Godzilla tree.”

Arthur has no idea what a Godzilla tree could be but he lets Merlin drag him inside. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Merlin this excited about anything.

Or this happy.

~*~

On Christmas Eve, Merlin finds a roundabout way of suggesting to Arthur that they exchange gifts. Arthur pretends like he doesn’t get the massive hints Merlin drops on him--at least until Merlin gets so thoroughly disgusted with his obtuseness that Arthur thinks he’s probably one step away from getting an arrow to the face.

“I’ll just pop out to Marks and Spencer then?” 

The look on Merlin’s face makes Arthur laugh out loud.

“Ugh, you dick. Nevermind. You don’t deserve a present.”

“But I want a present now, Merlin.”

Arthur doesn’t care one way or another about getting a present but he’s had an idea in his head since the day before when he found the generator and Merlin found the Christmas decorations. He can tell celebrating Christmas means a great deal to Merlin and he wants to give as much of a normal Christmas as he can. 

The world has gone to shit, and it’s ridiculous to want the things they had Before, but Arthur doesn’t care. Merlin wants it.

So he wants it too.

“I’m serious,” Arthur says. “I’m not messing you about. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

“You do?”

“Neither one of us has had anything close to normal in a long time. I think we’re due.”

“I know it’s stupid, we’ll never get it all back— “

“But that doesn’t really matter right now, does it? It’s Christmas after all.”

Merlin smiles. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“So I’ll be expecting a really amazing gift,” Arthur says.

Merlin laughs. “Whatever. You’re going to get a partially used bar of soap and a packet of stale biscuits I found in the pantry.”

“It’s like Father Christmas is standing in front of me. You knew exactly what I wanted.”

“Fuck off.” Merlin gives him a shove but he’s still smiling. 

“Well, if we’re going to do this I need the lounge for a couple hours.”

“Tell me you’re setting up a sex dungeon of some sort.”

“You’ve caught me, Merlin. I’m making you a Christmas sex dungeon.”

“Now who’s Father Christmas?” Merlin asks as he laughs and starts heading upstairs. “You get the lounge, I get the upstairs. No coming up and peeking.”

“Same goes for you.”

“Agreed.”

“Give a shout when you’re done,” Merlin says. 

“Will do,” Arthur says, stupidly excited about getting started.

~*~

“Close your eyes,” Arthur says.

“Am I going to regret this?” Merlin asks.

“I hope not.”

For some reason Arthur is nervous. When he thought of Merlin’s gift he had been excited, even while setting it up he couldn’t wait for Merlin to see it, but now it’s a reality and he’s not sure Merlin will like it at all. Maybe he’ll simply think it’s stupid, and somehow the thought that Merlin won’t love it as much as Arthur does upsets him. 

“What is that noise? Is that a chainsaw?” Merlin asks. “Am I walking into a kill room, Dexter?”

Arthur laughs. “Jesus. No it’s not a chainsaw, it’s a generator.”

“That’s what Dexter would say.”

“No, Dexter would’ve knocked you out first.”

“Oh my God. I hate needles, don’t knock me out.”

“Merlin, shut up.”

Merlin laughs, loud and happy and suddenly Arthur knows his gift is perfect--that Merlin will love it.

“I’ll shut up, but I kind of want to call you Dexter now.”

“You can call me whatever you want, just start walking,” Arthur says as he puts his hands over Merlin’s eyes, just to be on the safe side, and guides him into the lounge. 

When Arthur pulls his hands away from Merlin’s eyes he’s met with silence. Merlin is just standing there not moving or saying a thing. Arthur walks around Merlin so he can see his face and Arthur wants to laugh out loud when he sees the look of wonder on Merlin’s face.

“There’s a tree. And fairy lights.” Merlin points at the tree like Arthur doesn’t know what he’s talking about. 

“There is,” Arthur agrees.

Merlin turns to look at Arthur and says, “It looks just like Christmas.”

“Well, that was the idea.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Merlin shakes his head and reaches out to grab onto Arthur’s arm. “It looks— Normal. It looks like Christmas used to be.”

There’s a catch in Merlin’s voice and Arthur can see Merlin’s eyes are tearing up and he wants to kiss him so badly just then that he aches with it. It’s like a pulse: kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, and oh God, does Arthur want to. 

“You gave me Christmas, Arthur,” Merlin says as he turns toward Arthur and wraps him up in a hug that feels like he’s never going to let him go. “How’d you give me Christmas?”

Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s back, lets himself sink into the hug. “I found a generator in the shed, all I had to do was put some petrol in it and get it running.”

“Oh God, you’re wasting petrol on me,” Merlin says. 

“Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t take much. I found two full cans, anyway.”

“But keeping it for the truck is so much more important,” Merlin says as he pulls back from the hug.

Arthur keeps his hold on Merlin’s waist. “I said don’t worry. I found some old pieces of mail in the kitchen yesterday and I think I know where we are, or at least close to it. There’s a framed map of the county in the home office; according to it there’s a town not too far to the south. We can go look for petrol there.”

“But we don’t know if there’s any left there either.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says.

“Shut up?”

Arthur smiles. “Yes, shut up. Enjoy your Christmas.”

Merlin gives Arthur a small shove but Arthur feels Merlin’s hands clutch at him for just a second beforehand and it makes Arthur think that maybe Merlin didn’t really want to let him go.

“And look,” Arthur says as he goes over to the TV and turns it on. “I plugged the TV in too. I found _A Christmas Story_ , we can watch it later.”

“You didn’t,” Merlin says as he walks over and snatches the DVD out of Arthur’s hands. “We can watch a film? An actual real live film?”

“Probably just the one, though,” Arthur says. “I didn’t completely fill up the generator so I’m not sure how much time we’ll have.”

“I don’t care if we have five minutes, we’re watching a film.” Merlin grabs Arthur by the shoulders and shakes him until he starts laughing. “A film!” Merlin shouts in his face.

“Well, stop shouting at me and put it in.”

Merlin grins and pops the DVD into the player. 

“I can’t believe we’re watching a Christmas film and have fairy lights. I just— “ Merlin stops to take a breath. “Thank you, Arthur, it’s amazing. All of it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now I feel like a total tit with what I made for you.”

“Nooo,” Arthur says. “Gimme gimme.”

Merlin lifts up his shirt and pulls Arthur’s gift out of the front of his trousers.

“You didn’t have a better place to store it?” Arthur laughs as he takes the wrapped package. 

“Thought I’d give you a thrill.”

Arthur sits down on the couch and tears open his gift. It’s a diary, but Merlin has changed it into a book filled with little sketches and doodles and Merlin’s messy scrawl.

“ _Arthur Pendragon: Zombie Slayer_?” Arthur reads the title Merlin has Sharpied on the front cover and then opens it up. “Into every generation a zombie slayer is born...”

“So I might have slightly ripped off Joss Whedon, but you know, always rip off the best.”

Arthur smiles as he looks through the pages. “This is brilliant.”

“No, it’s not. It’s passable, not nearly as awesome as giving someone Christmas.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, it really is brilliant.”

“Whatever.” Merlin waves him off and plops down on the couch next to him. “Time for the film.”

Arthur lets Merlin start the film and pile duvets on top of them, but he’s hardly paying attention to the TV. He’s much more interested in his book and the little stories and pictures Merlin has put down on the pages. 

Having a Christmas is exactly what the two of them needed.

~*~

By the end of the film Merlin and Arthur are buried in a pile of duvets and slouched against one another. It’s warm and comfortable and Arthur doesn’t think he’s felt his much peace in months. Not since everything changed. If he’s being truthful he doesn’t think he ever thought he would feel this way again.

He actually feels safe.

He knows he’s not, everything can change so easily nowadays, but he doesn’t care. He feels safe now, with Merlin, and that’s all he needs. 

The credits are rolling and Merlin mutes the TV.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“You already thanked me.”

Merlin turns to look at him then pushes the duvets out of the way so he can straddle Arthur’s lap. He leans forward and wraps his arms around Arthur; their chests are pressed together and Merlin is warm, almost hot, from being buried under the duvets.

“It bears repeating,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur thinks that’ll be the end of it, but Merlin stays in his lap just holding him and Arthur holds back. He feels Merlin’s breath on his neck and his chest moving against his own. He imagines he can feel the steady thump of Merlin’s heart too. 

Merlin’s fingers curl into Arthur’s jumper, clutch at him, as Merlin starts to move his hips, rolling them. Arthur lets Merlin slowly rock against him, lazy and warm, and the friction between them grows. Arthur feels the heaviness of arousal set in; his cock starts to harden as he pushes his hips up from the couch--tries to press closer to Merlin. 

Arthur’s hands are at Merlin’s hips and he loves the way they feel as they move. Merlin’s breathing is getting faster and Arthur moves his hand, slips it inside the back of Merlin’s trousers until his fingers brush against Merlin’s hole only enough to tease, only enough to draw a gasp out of Merlin’s mouth. 

Arthur turns his head, presses his face against Merlin’s--their mouths are so close. Merlin shivers at the first brush of Arthur’s breath against his cheek and Arthur wants to say, _Anything. I’ll give you anything, just ask. Please ask._

“Fuck.” Merlin gasps. “I need you to— “

Arthur feels a rush of cold as Merlin pushes away from him, scrambles from his lap. Arthur’s about to tell him to come back when he sees Merlin’s only leaving him to find the lube they left somewhere amongst the sheets and duvets on their mattress that morning. Over the last couple of days all they’ve done is fuck. Again and again. When they’re not scavenging or eating they’re fucking. Arthur can’t believe all the time they have to fill when there’s nowhere to walk, nowhere to travel. 

The luxury of time when they’re not struggling just to stay alive.

Merlin’s shedding his clothes as he comes back to Arthur and he looks at him like he’s disappointed in him when he’s not half naked too. Arthur shakes his head, smiles, and starts pulling his jumper over his head. As he’s getting it over his head, Merlin climbs back onto his lap and presses his face against Arthur’s chest; nuzzles at it, takes a deep breath and inhales him, and once Arthur is free of his jumper he slides his hands into Merlin’s hair and holds him. His hands cup Merlin’s head and he feels his skin prickle where Merlin’s breath ghosts over it. 

Merlin pulls back a little and Arthur’s hands move from his hair down the sides of his face until he’s holding Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s eyes are focused on Arthur’s chest and he lays his hands, palms flat, on Arthur’s collarbone. Slowly Merlin slides his hands down Arthur’s chest, over his stomach, and then he does it again. And again. Arthur grabs his wrists to stop him, holds them at his side, and leans forward to press his mouth against Merlin’s ear.

“I want to fuck you.”

Merlin nods. “Fuck yes,” he says as he fights a bit with Arthur, pulling his arms back as Arthur keeps a hold on his wrists. Merlin’s breath hitches and then he laughs, low, deep in his throat, when Arthur doesn’t let him go. “Like that, huh?”

A thrill shivers through Arthur when Merlin gets it, when he starts to fight with Arthur in earnest. Merlin struggles against him until he works a hand free and then it’s Arthur’s turn to push back. 

Arthur’s heart is beating hard in his chest, and it doesn’t slow as they get the rest of their clothes off and stumble their way to the mattress. Merlin shouts out in delight when a foot hooked around Arthur’s calf throws him off balance and lands him on his back. By the time Merlin gets Arthur inside him, starts riding him, they’re sweaty and flushed and Arthur hopes he finds bruises on his biceps in the morning where Merlin’s fingers grip him.

A reminder that he’s flesh and blood and alive. 

And that Merlin is the same.

~*~

Arthur wakes up and finds Merlin watching him. He closes his eyes, not quite sure he’s actually awake yet, but when he opens them Merlin is still looking at him. Merlin’s eyes are intent, focused, and it takes a couple of moments before Merlin truly realises Arthur is awake. He flinches as if he were caught doing something he shouldn’t be.

Arthur wants to tell Merlin to never stop looking at him. 

He can feel Merlin’s stare in every piece of him, down to his fingertips, and it makes him want everything else to disappear.

“Morning,” Merlin mumbles.

“Morning.”

Arthur stretches and there, on his biceps, are small bruises. He can see the press of Merlin’s thumb on the inside of his arm and something settles down in his gut. It makes him feel smug, satisfied.

Merlin reaches out and touches the bruise. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I wanted it there.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything but Arthur sees something spark in his eyes, it’s there, and Arthur is tempted to reach out for Merlin to see if he’s hard, to ask him if he wants it too. Does it thrill him that he’s marked him?

Merlin flops onto his stomach and smashes his face into his pillow. “Don’t wanna go.”

“We could stay another day or two.”

Merlin turns his head and looks up at Arthur with one eye. “I want to, but we’ve gotta get north.”

“I know,” Arthur says. “It’s just that it’s nice here. Peaceful.”

“We’ll find something like this again.”

Arthur wants to ask Merlin how he knows that. Arthur is never sure of anything, and usually Merlin’s the one to make the list of gloom and doom, to have readily at hand all the things that could possibly go wrong ever in any situation. 

“Have I fucked your brains out?” Arthur teases. “You’re never optimistic.”

Merlin mutters ‘Fuck you’ into the pillow and reaches out to tweak Arthur’s nipple.

“Ouch. Christ.”

“I’m optimistic.”

“If by optimistic you mean the opposite, then yes.”

Merlin’s hand is lying on the mattress between them, his finger tracing patterns on the sheet. “I dunno,” he says, suddenly serious. “I just think we’ll find this again, we’ll find rest.”

“In the north?” Arthur asks as he hooks his finger onto Merlin’s.

Merlin looks up at him. “Yeah, in the north.”

Arthur doesn’t tell Merlin he’s worried that once they get there, once there’s more than just the two of them, Arthur will lose him. 

Because what is there holding them together other than the fear of not being alone?

~*~

They’ve packed some things into the back of the truck and Merlin offers to go looking for petrol in the town Arthur thinks is nearby.

“You used it up on me, the least I could do is make a quick run to check things out. You said the town was only a few miles east of here,” Merlin says.

“We can go together, all we’ve got left to do is raid the cellar for more food and we’re good to go.”

“But the town is out of our way, I might as well save us the time. We want to get in as many miles as we can while it’s still light. Besides, by the time you check out the food down there I’ll have been there and back and we can take off. You won’t even know I was gone.”

“Fine,” Arthur says. “Be safe, though.”

Merlin salutes him as he heads out the door and Arthur rolls his eyes. He’s going to do his best to focus on stocking up on their food supply instead of worrying about Merlin.

Arthur has an old lantern set up in the cellar and he’s deep into checking out the jars for popped tops and broken seals so it takes him by surprise to hear the hissing moan of a Risen at the top of the stairs. 

“Fuck.”

Arthur picks up his machete and heads towards the stairs. He looks up and sees a woman shuffle past the open cellar door. He thinks the damp mustiness of the cellar must be masking his scent because she doesn’t even pause as she moves past the door. 

He doesn’t know whether to risk taking a look, or to let her go on her way hoping she’s alone. The problem is solved for him though when he sees a second and a third Risen pass by the door. Something must catch the third one’s attention because he turns towards the cellar. He makes a turn, his arms swinging out as he flops to the side--that strange marionette movement all Risen have, like they’re being moved by a force apart from themselves. 

Arthur heads up the stairs and gets a clean shot. The body collapses onto the stairs as the head goes rolling down them and Arthur thinks, ‘This is the part in the film where I laugh because it all looks so ridiculous’. And he would laugh except when he reaches the top of the stairs, is once again out in open air, his legs almost give out. 

There’s not just one or two Risen, there’s a dozen or more, and when Arthur looks beyond them he sees what truly makes the fear rise up in his throat--they’re only the head of the pack, further back there’s an entire fucking herd shuffling steadily toward the farmhouse. 

There’s possibly close to a hundred of them and Arthur momentarily freezes. He doesn’t know if he’s panicking and seeing more than there actually are, or if he’s having a fucking nightmare. If he is, Merlin better fucking well wake him up. 

Arthur can hear himself struggling to breathe for a second, a wheezing sort of gasp, and the pathetic weakness of it snaps him out of it. He hasn’t gotten this far by fucking panicking. 

He makes a quick check to see if his gun is still in its holster at his hip before taking off. He needs to get ahead of the herd. There’s no point trying to barricade himself inside the house, that many Risen will tear the walls down. 

As he makes his way towards the woods behind the house, a hand grabs him. He’s quick to swing his machete around and sever the arm--any grasp they get on you is dangerous. They look slow, sluggish, but one hand on you leads to another and with the number of Risen around him it wouldn’t take long to get pulled down. 

Arthur gets free and runs. All he can think about is putting distance between himself and the herd.

He can’t let himself think about how the herd is also moving across the road, cutting him off from Merlin.

~*~

Arthur runs for what feels like hours. Every time he thinks he can slow down and take a rest there’s another Risen in front of him. The herd is bigger than Arthur suspected back at the farm and it feels like they’re coming at him from all directions. Finally, when he looks behind him, he sees nothing, hears nothing.

He drops to his knees. 

He looks around to try to get a sense of where he is, but he hasn’t a clue. He’s been running so long, zigzagging through the woods in no discernible path or direction. All he knows is that he’s west of the farmhouse based on the position of the sun. 

And that Merlin is east of it. 

He hopes Merlin turned the fuck around when he came back to the farmhouse and saw the herd. He doesn’t want to think Merlin came looking for him, maybe even got hurt or killed doing it. They’ve never made definitive plans about what they’d do in a situation like this. They’ve never said: well, if I lose you you’re lost. They’ve never said: I’m not coming back for you. 

Arthur knows he’d come back for Merlin, again and again. He would kill himself doing it. There’s no way he can be in this world without Merlin. 

Merlin has become his world.

There’s no point without him. He’s heading north to get Merlin to safety. All of his focus, all of his determination has centered on Merlin, and he doesn’t regret it. When he lost his father and sister, his boyfriend and best mates, when he was alone and at the edge of the precipice, there came Merlin. Snarky and tough and funny as hell, and so beautifully fucking _alive_ and kicking and fighting that Arthur remembers wanting to weep. There was no hope left in him, but then there was Merlin.

So he doesn’t fucking care if he’s handing himself over as zombie-chow, he’s going back for Merlin. Once he rests, gets his bearings, he’s heading back to the farmhouse and if Merlin’s not there then he’s heading to the town where Merlin went. 

And if he’s not there then Arthur is going to follow the road north until he catches up with him. Or dies. There’s no in between now. There’s only Merlin.

~*~

It takes Arthur a lot longer than he expects to get back to the road that leads back to the farmhouse. At least he hopes it’s the right road and that he hasn’t gotten himself completely turned around.

He looks left, then right, not sure if he’s gone past the farmhouse or not. He takes a chance and heads right. The sun is setting and he’s exhausted beyond belief. He thinks it might be best to find a place to sleep for a bit, but he knows Merlin will be worried and the thought presses him on. 

He gets a couple of miles down the road when he sees a Risen walking toward him. The sky is just barely clinging to light and Arthur can’t really see much further past the Risen. He has no idea if he’s running back into the herd or not and decides to veer off the road and back into the woods. It’s pointless to carry on now, especially if he fucking stumbles right back into the middle of the herd in the dead of night. 

Arthur cracks out a broken burst of laughter. Dead of night. Fucking pun intended.

He’s to the crazy point of exhaustion now and will get himself killed if he doesn’t stop. 

He doesn’t know what to do about the sleeping situation other than to haul his arse up into a tree and hope he wedges himself in tightly enough not to fall out of it in the middle of the night. 

It takes the last bit of his strength to get up the tree and settled and he feels like fucking Katniss Everdeen, but he’s comfortable enough so he thinks, to hell with it.

When he looks up through the bare branches of the tree at the scattering of stars that are just starting to appear in the sky he thinks about Merlin, and the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago he was buried deep inside him. Warm. Safe. 

He wants to scream but his throat is clogged up with scared, hysterical sobs. He flings his arms over his face, covers his dry, burning eyes, and when he opens his mouth to draw in a breath a single gasping sob bursts free. Only one, short and abrupt, then he catches himself, draws in a breath and stops.

No more. Sleep. He needs to sleep.

~*~

Arthur wakes up on and off throughout the night. He’s nearly frozen and he can’t feel his fingers or toes anymore despite the fact he has his hands shoved into his armpits and is wearing two pairs of socks inside his boots.

When he lowers himself to the ground at the crack of dawn, he stumbles, his bones ache and he’s so stiff he can barely move. He stretches slowly and tries to get the blood flowing back into his limbs. 

Once he gets back out to the road and starts heading in the direction he was walking the day before he begins to see how lucky he was to stop when he did. There’s a small rise in the road and once he gets to the top of it he can see for at least another mile ahead of him and the road is dotted with Risen. They must be part of the herd still, or stragglers, because Arthur recognizes a sign up ahead. It’s the same sign he’s seen from the other direction, from the farmhouse. It has ribbons hanging from it, like it was used to help mark the directions to a party, or a memorial, Arthur doesn’t know which. 

The farmhouse can’t be more than a mile, mile and a half away. 

Arthur starts walking towards it again. It’s probably a fool’s errand, especially if the herd is still surrounding the farmhouse. Merlin won’t be there, but Arthur has to try. 

The Risen are scattered enough, few enough, that Arthur can take them out as he walks, but the closer he gets to the farmhouse the thicker they become and he has to stop. He can see that now. The woods to the right of the road are filled with them, he can see them wandering around through the trees. 

Arthur curls his hands into fists.

“Fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuck,” Arthur curses under his breath, his voice brittle and cracked from thirst, as he throws his machete to the ground. “Fucking fuuuck.”

He drops down onto his haunches and runs his hands through his hair. It’s no use. Merlin’s not at the farmhouse, he can’t be, not with that many Risen surrounding it. And why are they still there? Why haven’t they moved on? 

Now Arthur needs to backtrack, head in the direction of the town where he hopes Merlin will be waiting for him.

He picks up his machete and stands up.

~*~

Arthur stops and stares when he gets to the sign announcing his arrival at the village of Hulland Ward. He’s so tired and thirsty and he can’t believe he’s actually made it. He feels himself wobble on his feet slightly. He’s not sure where he’ll go from here if he doesn’t find Merlin.

His feet feel like they’re on fire but slowly he keeps walking, looking ahead hoping to see a petrol sign. It has to be on the main roadway. 

Every block feels like a mile, but when he sees the old red truck he stumbles a bit, gasps, then starts to jog towards it. 

“M— Mer— “ he tries to call out to Merlin because he can’t see him right away, but his throat is so dry that his name gets stuck. 

Arthur clears his throat, tries calling out again. “Merl...in.” He gets it out, but he can barely hear himself. He feels like he’s in a dream where he’s trying to scream and no matter how hard he tries all that comes out is a horrid little choked screech. 

“Merlin.” 

He thinks he can see him sitting in the back of the truck: a flash of dark hair. He shouts again, as loud as he can even though the sound of his feet hitting the street is probably louder. Merlin must hear him though because Arthur can see him turn to the side, his profile coming into view. 

And it’s him. It’s definitely him. Arthur stumbles to a stop.

“Merlin!”

He watches as Merlin hops down from the tailgate and stands there, staring back at him. 

“Arthur?” Merlin takes a step forward, then says Arthur’s name a second time, his voice cracking.

“Yes,” Arthur says and starts walking towards him again. “It’s me. I’m here.”

The second Arthur gets done saying, _’I’m here,’_ Merlin drops to his knees, his hands palms down on the road as he starts to cry. Loud, heaving sobs. It sounds like he can’t catch his breath and Arthur runs the last few feet to get to him.

“Merlin, no— It’s okay.” He gets down on his knees in front of Merlin and reaches out for his hands. “It’s okay,” he repeats. Except it’s really not because he can feel the tears on his own face and he knows he’s one step away from collapsing entirely. 

When Arthur’s hands wrap around Merlin’s wrists he jumps at the touch, like he’s been shocked, and his head snaps up to look at Arthur. It takes less than a second and Merlin’s wrists are pulled free from Arthur’s hold and are wrapped around him. 

Merlin is shaking and Arthur quickly wraps his own arms around him, fearing he’s rattling himself apart into pieces right in front of him. 

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, his voice loud in Arthur’s ear where his lips are pressed, his shuddering breaths hot against Arthur’s skin. “I looked for you. I went back, I— “

“I’m here,” Arthur says and pulls Merlin closer, onto his lap.

Merlin’s fingers are tangled up in Arthur’s hair, holding onto him so tightly it hurts, but Arthur doesn’t care because it’s like Merlin needs to be harsh with him, needs to grasp and clutch and pull just to prove to himself that Arthur is there in his arms, that Merlin’s wrapped around him and they’re together again.

“I went back for you. I went back for you.” Merlin sounds broken and he’s pressing against Arthur’s ear and his hair as he says again and again, “I went back for you.”

“Shhh,” Arthur hushes him. “I know you did. I know. I went back for you too.”

“No.” Merlin shakes his head and pulls back just enough that he can look into Arthur’s eyes. “You don’t understand. When I didn’t find you— “

Arthur takes Merlin’s face in his hands, holds him steady, and another broken sob forces its way out of Merlin at the touch as he does the same: takes Arthur’s face in his hands, then presses their foreheads together. 

“I know,” Arthur says. “I was scared too.”

“No,” Merlin says again, exhausted, his breath hitching from crying. “It’s not that. I wasn’t just scared.”

Arthur pulls back just enough to bring Merlin’s face into focus as he runs his thumbs under Merlin’s eyes, pushing the wetness away. He’s going to say, ‘I know. It’s so much more than fear, losing you,’ but then Merlin speaks again.

“You’re what keeps me alive.”

Arthur closes his eyes and lets the relief, the peace rush through him. He knew. In his heart he knew, but now it’s real, it’s alive and breathing between them. 

“I love you,” he says as he opens his eyes. “And I would have loved you Before.”

And he knows Merlin hears exactly what he’s saying.

 

~End


End file.
